The sheep in the pen jostle in unrest.
They're glued to Their phones unless They are pressed.
Pyramid above would herd Them about
Controlling Their lives, and They do not shout.
Touching with hands as They enter a plane,
They acquiesce to the lines and the strain.
Freedom of movement, to live in the wild
Is taken from Them, as if They're a child.
No flowers, no trees, no bridges and streams,
The Ones at the top would enter Their dreams,
Speak of obeyance as how to be free
While slaving away with chains They can't see.
I stand to power, true freedom is Mine.
Teepees or tents or castles are all fine
When I stand sovereign on ground that I walk,
Waking the sheep up, arousing the flock,
With solutions to psychopaths in power.
I'll shout it out loud, no, I will not cower!
Each mind that opens to stand beside Me
Is one step closer that We'll All be free.